


Time

by TheSleepiestDreamer



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aging, BIKM Bingo, Death, Gen, Prompt: Time, Sad, the unstoppable march of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepiestDreamer/pseuds/TheSleepiestDreamer
Summary: Time stops for no man, or bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Bard Bingo- BIKM Bingo





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the BIKM Bingo challenge, which has been a delight to participate in. Thank you again to the wonderful Locktea for making sure this wasn't a hot mess. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> ❤

Jaskier is a young man when Geralt meets him, barely graduated from Oxenfurt and not quite yet worthy of the title Master Bard. A lanky sprout who hasn’t quite got the backbone to support his brashness, sass, and ego, but he walks and talks as though he does until someone is looming over him and Geralt must step in before he gets knocked about. He is a thorn in Geralt’s side more than a companion, and yet the bardling's antics pull more smiles from him than he can remember having outside the halls of Kaer Morhen since Blaviken. 

He is a grown man when Geralt hurls all the blame, the guilt, the stress that was eating him from the inside out at him. He doesn’t follow blindly the way he once might have, having learned to value himself more than he had in his younger years. He is a grown man and fully capable of making his way back down the mountain without Geralt’s help, the Witcher tells himself trying to ease the tightness in his chest. He is a grown man and doesn’t need Geralt to look after him anymore. 

He is older after the war. Thin streaks of silver adorn his temples, all but hidden in chestnut locks. Fine lines frame his eyes, remaining even when he is no longer smiling. They stand out like a beacon to Geralt. Jaskier has always been lively, seemed to be nearly ageless for the first few decades of their travels, and to see the marks of his age upon his visage unsettles something inside of Geralt. He doesn’t say anything about how the bard cannot travel quite as far as he used to in a day, that each hour seems to weigh heavier on his companion, that his joints creak and crack after a night spent sleeping under the stars. Jaskier doesn’t say anything either, perhaps not yet aware of the toll the decades have had on him. 

Years later, not enough years later, Jaskier is an old man. His hair faded from salt-and-pepper to soft white wisps, the lines on his face etched further into his skin. His bard can no longer travel with him, preferring to stay in his quarters in Oxenfurt where there is always a roof over his head, food to eat, and someone to listen to his songs. Geralt has taken to spending his winters crammed into the small apartment with his friend, the air never catches quite the same chill as it does in the north and there are fewer snows to make Jaskier’s joints stiff and ache. Each winter his friend seems a little duller, the bright vibrancy from his youth reduced to a twinkle in his eye and a coy smile that shows when they reminisce on one of their misadventures together. He jokes once that their hair matches now, that Jaskier has truly become the White Wolf’s bard, but it sounds flat to his own ears and Jaskier’s wistful smile does little to soothe the helplessness he feels. 

He manages to be there when his bard slips away, the slowing heartbeat pulling him from his slumber. He holds his friend’s hand as he passes, whispers to him how very grateful he is for every moment they had together, that he had found such a true friend when he needed one most. He promises to live a little bit more, to retire the human way if he can as the bard wanted him to. 

The waves are calm as he rows out with his friend for the last time, though the sky is dull and grey as though it recognizes the somber occasion. He’s not sure if this is the same coast the poet had once spoken of, but he doesn’t think Jaskier will mind. The salty air stings his eyes as he bids a final farewell to the man who knew him best. He had thought about keeping a pinch of the ashes with him, but a Witcher’s life is dangerous and uncertain and he would never forgive himself if he lost that final bit of Jaskier to some monster. His chest is heavier on the journey back though his load is lighter. He stares past the horizon until Roach huffs and nudges him with her large head. He shakes his head, imagining the chewing-out he would get for already going back on his promises before turning back towards the road and the life ahead of him.


End file.
